Fast-Track
by Juliet'sEmoPhase
Summary: Harry's job as a bike messenger is getting him down, but when a handsome stranger gets mugged, he realises he has a chance to become a bit of a hero. Non-Magic AU. Drarry, no smut, strong language.


Author's Note 19-06-15: A little Muggle AU written for the birthday of Bambi, aka painfullymediocre over on Tumblr. I came up with the idea of BikeMessenger!Harry and Architect!Draco, because apparently my brain can make Drarry out of anything if given half the chance.

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Fast-Track

Harry was having one of those days. One of those days where he couldn't seem to stop griping about the fact he had a university degree, that he was very talented in numerous fields, but owing to an infuriating need to pay his bills on time, had agreed to a job as a bloody bike messenger.

Not there was anything wrong with being a bike messenger. There were days when he loved whizzing around London, priding himself of delivering packages on time or even early. He liked the ones marked _'Fragile!'_ the best, he saw it as a challenge and had never once been responsible for any breakages.

But the downside to a job like this was it also gave you a lot of time to think, and Harry was thinking too much today. About how his friends all had proper careers, were getting married, hell, Ron and Hermione were even expecting their first _baby._ And here Harry was, in a menial job, single, living in an attic flat so small he could barely stand up straight in the middle of it.

He sighed and swung his bike around in the busy street, hoping off to manoeuvre it between parked cars and trot up to the few steps to the four story town house listed on his delivery form, hoisting his backpack around to fish the jiffy envelope out before ringing the doorbell. This was a whole house. Even if it was split into flats per floor – _per room –_ Harry could never afford a place like this. He told himself he wouldn't even want to live in Chelsea anyway, it was full of people with more money than sense, but he still struggled to put on a smile as the door finally opened.

"Jam Pony Messenger!" he said cheerfully as a wizened old codger in his eighties scowled down at him. He had a maroon, velvet dressing gown on that Harry thought belonged in a Dickensian novel and a genuine pipe clamped between his teeth.

"You're late," he grumbled, snatching up the parcel from Harry's hand. Harry gritted his teeth and willed himself to keep smiling.

"I'm sorry about that sir," he said, despite the fact he was well within the allocated delivery slot. Some people just made themselves feel better by acting like douche-bags to the help, and those people would probably die alone Harry assured himself. Alone in their grandiose mansions, but alone none the less.

He held out his tablet for the man with a stylo. "If I could just get your signature…"

"New-fangled codswallop," the man muttered, pulling his glasses out of his top pocket and inspecting the tablet dubiously, like it might explode. As Harry held it out for him, he caught a handsome man leaving the building next door out of the corner of his eye. He was tall and so blond his hair was almost white, and he wore a harangued look on his face as he stopped at the bottom of the short flight of stone steps, buttoned his suit jacket and rested his briefcase by his feet. He was talking very fast to someone on the other end of the mobile phone pinched between his ear and his shoulder, obviously late for a meeting or something. Harry didn't want to eavesdrop too obviously, so returned his full attention back to his customer who was finally scribbling on the screen with a trembling hand.

"Great," said Harry brightly as he handed the stylo back. "Have a nice-" The door slammed in his face. "Day. Wanker," he hissed under his breath and shook his head. This day really sucked. At least, he soothed himself as he turned back around to fetch his bike, he'd been able to spy a bit of man-candy.

The blond was still talking on the phone. "What do you mean they've cancelled!" he bemoaned, taking the phone back in his left hand and looking at his flashy watch on the other. "I was up all night working on those plans!" He listened for a bit to the other end of the phone as Harry threw his leg over the bike frame and readjusted his helmet, hoping he didn't look too dorky. Not that the guy was paying him much attention, but Harry liked to think he maybe thought he was okay looking too. If he was gay. There was always a chance he wasn't, but Harry was normally pretty spot-on guessing who was eligible for a good flirt, and this guy definitely checked all the boxes.

Harry brought up his schedule on his tablet as the guy huffed and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "I guess," he sighed, and Harry thought maybe he was on hold while someone rescheduled his meeting.

Harry also found himself sighing. He had no jobs cued up, so he would just have to hang around until someone in West London decided they needed something moving urgently. He could go back to the hub, he reasoned, but he always found once he did that he'd need to ride back out right where he just was, and that was tedious.

He only half noticed the teenager skulking by; the street was heavy with pedestrians and noisy from the traffic rumbling by, so it wasn't that surprising. But there was something about the way his shoulders were hunched under his t-shirt that caught Harry's eye at the last second, just in time to look up and see the boy dart down, hand flashing out for the handle of the blond guy's briefcase before he broke into a sprint.

" _NO!"_ the guy yelled, jerking forward, but the boy was already ten feet away.

Harry didn't even think. He slammed his bike into gear and jumped on the pedals, shooting past the stunned guy still gripping his phone in his hand. He wasn't really sure what he wasn't doing; all he knew was his day may have been crappy so far, but the look on that guy's face was like the boy had just kidnapped his child, and Harry would be damned if he was going to let that slide by without a fight.

He rocketed between people already scattered by the fleeing thief. Harry had to give him credit, he was lightning fast, but he wasn't a match for Harry and his bike. Which is probably why, after glancing over his shoulder to see he was being pursued, he darted right into the traffic.

"Shit!" cursed Harry, slowing and weaving between two parked cars, thankful to the one in motion that slammed on its breaks to let Harry into the flow of the road. The boy was already over the other side, running as hard as ever, but Harry decided to gain to ground before trying to cross the opposite lane. Instead, he flew down the centre, between the vehicles going both ways, snapping his head back and forth to make sure he hadn't lost the teenager.

Soon enough, a side street loomed, and predictably that's where the boy darted. But Harry was already judging the cars next to him, and managed to swerve his bike between them and then in front of the van at a standstill by the bakery on the corner.

This street was much quieter, and Harry leaned into his handlebars, feeling the blood burning through his thigh muscles as he closed the gap between them…closer…until…

He came up beside the boy and did the only thing he could think of, which was to yank the wheel and slam into him, sending him sprawling on the tarmac and the briefcase scattering from his hand. Unfortunately, Harry also took a dive, crashing into the hard ground, scraping his skin and bashing his shoulder, his legs tangled painfully in his own bike frame.

The boy was quicker back up to his feet, but he was panting and scowling incredulously at Harry, already limping away at a surprisingly fast rate. Harry didn't care though as he groaned and eased himself onto his arse, pushing his bike off and rubbing his bleeding elbow. The briefcase was just a few feet away, half under a parked red hatchback, still locked and barely scratched from its fall.

Harry had drawn a small crowd from his minor heroics, and a couple of people were drawing near, asking if he was okay. But through them pushed a frantic figure, his blond hair visible before anything else, who drew up at the sight of Harry sat on the ground, his stolen property lying a couple of feet away.

"Oh thank fuck," he cried, sinking in front of Harry and grabbing his shoulders. "Oh Christ alive, oh thank you thank you thank you." He dropped to sit beside Harry, one hand covering his face, the other resting on the leather of the case. "You are my hero."

Harry gave a shaky laugh as a couple of people inspected his wounds and asked if he wanted them to call an ambulance. "No, no," he said, waving them off with a grateful smile. "I'm fine, it's worse than it looks." After a lifetime of scraped appendages he knew that although his grazes stung, they just needed a wash and they'd heal in a week or so.

The blond guy was taking slow, deep breaths, and appeared to be recovering somewhat. "Thank you," he said again, lowering his hand and looking Harry at sincerely. He had beautiful silvery eyes, and Harry had to take a second to recover himself.

"Oh, hey, no problem," he told him, easing himself to his feet. The man hopped up too, offering a helping hand which Harry took even though he didn't really need it. "You seemed like you wanted your case back pretty badly."

The small crowd were dispersing with smiles and nods that Harry reciprocated to assure them he was really okay, and convey thanks for their concern. The guy shook his head ruefully and picked up the case, hugging it to his chest. His jacket had come undone to reveal more of his white shirt, still crisp despite his sprint, and a teal-green tie that complimented his eyes and hair very nicely. "I'm such an idiot," he said as Harry pulled his bike back up and kicked the stand. It didn't look like it had incurred any damage, which Harry was extremely thankful for; he couldn't afford any repairs right now.

"You're not an idiot," Harry said, fetching a bottle of water from his satchel and taking a swig. "This area's not exactly common for muggings."

"That's not what I meant," said the guy, taking the bottle as Harry offered it and draining a good mouthful. He tapped the briefcase. "The plans in here are hard copies, and there aren't any back-ups. I was rushing too much and I thought I'd be okay, normally I have triple copies, quadruple." He shook his head again and raised his eyebrows at Harry. "I would have been monumentally screwed if you hadn't chased that guy down."

Harry shrugged. "He got away," he said, stating the obvious, but the blond shook his head even harder.

"Couldn't give a shag," he said firmly. "These drawings are for a deal that could be worth millions, they're all I care about." He inhaled deeply, his eyes still trained on Harry, and stuck out his hand. "Thank you," he said once again, but Harry didn't mind. He was happy he'd been able to save his handsome stranger a world of grief, he could deal with a bit of awkward grovelling.

"No problem at all," he insisted, shaking his hand which was warm and pleasant in Harry's grip. He tried to suppress the fleeting image of having those hands elsewhere on his body, but without much luck.

"Let me repay you," said the guy, dropping his hand and gesticulating uncertainly. "I mean, I'm not sure I can, but you could come back to my apartment and clean up, I could make you tea or something?"

Harry couldn't actually believe his luck. "Yeah, sure," he stammered. "That would be great."

The guy gave him a beaming smile, and they began walking back the way they had chased the thief, Harry's bike trundling along between them. "I'm Draco by the way, Draco Malfoy." He drummed his fingers on the leather, the case hugged to his torso again.

Harry would normally make a quip about the stupid names rich people gave their kids, but he found he couldn't even muster one mentally. It was such an unusual name, beautiful but strong.

"Nice to meet you Draco, I'm Harry," he told him, watching amused as Draco ran his hand fretfully through his fine blond hair.

"And do you often come to the rescue of hopeless architects Harry?" he asked, managing a shaky smile that Harry mirrored back.

"Oh yes," he laughed. "A fellow has to make a living, the courier business isn't what it used to be you know."

That got a laugh out of Draco too, and Harry could see him start to relax. As they walked, Harry tapped out a text with his thumb, one hand still on the handlebars, telling his boss he'd been knocked off his bike and asking for a longer lunch break. He got a reply almost immediately telling him to take the rest of his shift off, and suddenly this day didn't seem so rubbish after all.

"I'm so sorry you got hurt," said Draco as they crossed back over the main road and headed up towards his building. "I should have said that first, I was worrying about the stupid drawings, are you okay, do you need to go to hospital?"

Harry chuckled; he obviously hadn't been listening to him talking to the people who had come over to help. "Honestly I'm fine," he said. "Once I wash the blood off there'll only be a few grazes."

"Well," said Draco, fishing his keys out and unlocking the front door. "I'd like to help in any way I can. You can have a shower if you want, and I could lend you some clothes?"

Harry looked down as they stepped into the cool entrance hall, out of the heat of the midday sun. He hadn't realised he'd ripped his trousers, and his t-shirt had blood on it. "Oh, thanks," he said. "That would be great." They deposited Harry's bike under the stairwell and headed upwards.

Draco's flat was on the second floor, and was three times the size of Harry's. Again, he tried to muster up enough energy to be jealous, but instead he just found himself appreciating Draco's style and décor. Being an architect, it wasn't surprising to find lots of arty prints on the walls and modern looking sculptures dotted about the bookshelves and on coffee tables. It was a good deal more sophisticated than Harry's horror movie posters and sci-fi memorabilia. He pondered maybe there was a reason his flat was a fraction of the size of Draco's.

"So," said Draco, flying about the place. Harry spotted there was a spare room filled with a couple of large easels, white-boards and a computer with two monitors, but it was to his bedroom that Draco darted. "I'll grab you some things, the bathroom's through there, and I can make you some tea – or coffee?"

"Tea," said Harry, inspecting the bookcase. "Two sugars, thanks."

Draco ushered him into the white-tiled bathroom with a pile of jeans, polo-shirt and a fresh towel. "Use whatever you like, take your time, I've not got any more meetings now so I'll be, you know, here," he said, waving his hands about scattily. "I'll just…" He stopped and took a deep breath. "Sorry. I'm not used to being mugged." He gave a curt nod. "I shall be in the kitchen, making whatever tea has the least caffeine in it."

Harry reached out and took his shoulder. "Freak out all you like," he said with a grin. "My boss gave me the day off. What say we have some tea and you can tell me all about that project I saved for you." He winked, for good measure.

"I'd like that," said Draco, sagging a little in relief. The moment hung, and Harry suddenly felt bold.

"Then," he said slowly. "How about you take me to dinner? I think that would make us even, wouldn't it?"

Draco's eyebrows rose into his pale hair, and for a second Harry feared he'd misread the situation. "You mean…like a date?"

Harry smiled tightly. "Nah, I mean, not if that's not…if you're not…"

"I'd love to," Draco interrupted. It was Harry's turn to be surprised, but Draco broke into a gorgeous grin that wiped away all doubt. "I'd really love to."

Harry smiled. It was worth the grumpy customers and the sore elbows and the general lack of direction in his life. He'd found his inner hero, and now he'd found himself a scrumptious date. "I'd really love to too," he said.

Yep. Today had turned out pretty okay he decided.

End


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